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Untying Curt’s wrists, Owen heaves him out of the simple plastic chair he was bound to. He grimaces at the red marks twisting into his partner's skin where the rope had cut too deep. If he hadn’t already put a bullet in the skull of the man responsible for Curt’s interrogation, he would have already.
This line of work meant having to accept a certain few facts of life. One of those is that, more often than not, you’ll never get a full night of sleep. Owen had startled awake a few hours ago to an incoming call demanding he rescue a ‘compromised agent’. He’d been in this gig long enough to know what that meant; Curt’s been kidnapped, interrogated, and given some form of sedative, and no-one else wants to deal with him.
The man in question grins dopily at Owen, his eyes sparkling in adoration under the fluorescent lights of the abandoned warehouse. Leaning forwards, he rests his head on top of Owen’s as the brit is crouched down, removing the restraints on his legs.
Honestly it should be common knowledge in criminal circles by now. If you want a successful interrogation with the famous Agent Mega, do not, under any circumstances, drug him. For whatever reason, the man, instead of playing along nicely, will simply get high off his ass.
As soon as Owen yanks the last of the rope away, he stands and pulls Curt to his feet. Keeping a firm grip of his hand, the brit readies his gun for any potential threats, and starts towards the exit.
“C’mon, old boy, if Cynthia doesn’t get you home in time for breakfast she’ll have your ear off. Mine too, if I’m not careful.”
Curt follows him like a loyal puppy, and giggles loudly, “Y’re funny, Owe,” his words are slurred and mumbled, but he persists.
Owen chuckles, but keeps walking, dragging Curt behind him, “How’s that, love?”
“Ohld boy. Bo- boi- boy. Love. Loooooove. Luv.” Curt, his mind still foggy with sedative, tries desperately to mimic Owen’s accent, “You say words funny.”
As they’re about to leave the warehouse, a shout rings out from behind them. Owen spins on his heels to see a pair of goons running towards him, one with a tommy gun and another wielding a length of lead pipe. Cocking his shotgun, the Brit shoots one in the throat, and the other square between the eyes with a practised casualness.
They burst out the rusty side door, and into Owen’s small car. It wasn’t much, but it was inconspicuous, and faster than a bat out of hell when it needed to be. He pulls out of the small alleyway, and out onto the main road.
Streetlamps shine down on the navy blue vehicle as it shoots down the main road. As he turns onto the freeway, Owen becomes aware of something poking into his arm. Glancing to his right, he sees Curt grinning at him, eyes still slightly unfocused.
“Owe. Owe. Owe. Say something British.”
Glancing at the car tailing them in his rear-view mirror, Owen smiles fondly at his partner, “I am British, love. Everything I say is British.”
“Have a proper cup-a tea, love. Proh-pah. Cuh-pah. Looove. Luv.” Curt giggles to himself again, “Say that.”
Rolling his eyes, Owen takes one hand off the steering wheel, and pulls a handgun out of the glove box. As he rolls down the window, he obliges, “Have a proper cuppa tea, love”
Curt squeals in delight, and Owen leans out the side window, firing three clean shots at the car tailing them. He smiles as it swerves, spinning out of control as the driver slumps in their seat. He turns his attention back to the road, smiling in satisfaction as a crashing noise rings out from behind them, followed by the total combustion of their pursuer’s engine lighting up the dark freeway.
—
The sun is barely showing over the horizon as two agents walk through the main doors of the American Secret Service headquarters. An A.S.S employee tries to stop them, but Owen just flashes his badge and walks on, Curt happily following him.
“Owe, Owe, Owe, now say something American.” Whatever drugs those goons pumped the agent with are still flowing through his system, even after the three hour drive. Patting his hand, Owen smiles at him.
“Not right now, love. Cynthia needs to see us.” Before Curt can pout at him, Owen lowers his voice, and takes both of Curt’s hands, “Now look at me. In the eyes, love. Do you remember what the rule is?”
Curt nods sagely, “No tellin’ no-one about us. Not even if they’re nice to me. We’re friends. Nothing else.” The look of solemness is gone immediately as Curt breaks out into a wide grin. “Owe, say friends in British.”
“Friends. Or pals. Chums, if you really want.” He knocks on the door to Cynthia’s office as Curt furrows his brow, trying to repeat the words under his breath.
“Come in!” A harsh voice calls to them from the room beyond. Knowing better than to waste the time of the director of the A.S.S, Owen hurries Curt inside, slamming the door behind them. Pushing the other agent into a chair, the Brit takes his seat in front of the desk, and smiles at the already pissed-off woman in front of them.
“Mission report?” She asks, not really a question.
Owen wastes no time in responding, “Agent Mega was kidnapped by a previously unknown group, drugged with some kind of sedative, presumably to get him talking, and,” He gestures to the agent in question, who is currently staring at the Newtons Cradle swinging back and forth on the desk with a childlike wonder, “He’s been like this for the last few hours.”
Suddenly aware that he’s being talked about, Curt straightens up and smiles widely at his boss. “Owen’s been teaching me things! Cu-pah tea. Cuppatea.” He grins at Cynthia like he’s just invented happiness.
Pulling her cigarette tin out of her blazer, she pinches her nosebridge, and sighs, “Send him down to Doctor Larvernor. She’ll sort him out.”
Owen nods, pulling his partner up sharply, hurrying them towards the door before Cynthia can get snappy. “Yes Cynthia, thank you ma’am.”
“Always a pleasure, Carvour.”
Before Owen can pull him away to Barb’s room, Curt turns around and beams dopily at his boss. “Thanks Cynthia! You’re a good friend!” He pauses and giggles to himself, “Pal. Chum.”
With a look of disgust, she shoves them out the room, slamming the door shut behind them.